27 November, A Day I’ll Always Remember

I adored a beautiful boy once. He was born on 27 November 1955. I met him in July 1972, and if truth be told, he was the first boy who impressed me. I had a crush on him for years. Though he didn’t notice me much, our stars did align, and our paths crossed occasionally. Remembering his tragic death reminds us of the loved ones we've lost, fostering a sense of shared remembrance and connection among everyone here. 

My father found him with the needle stuck in his vein, the tube tied around his cold, blue arm, a haunting image that stays with me. He lay there, curled on a threadbare mattress on a cold parquet floor in a Spartan bachelor’s flat. A talented boy who’d hated the futile guerrilla war he was conscripted to fight. To numb his pain, he found solace first in a glass pipe and then in pink, crushed Wellconal, fighting his own inner dragon. He’d just returned from a stint on the Angolan border. Authorities call it collateral damage. He was just cannon fodder in a brutal, futile war. I couldn’t mourn his death, but I will always remember his birthday with a heavy heart.

Decades later, with much water under the bridge, on 27th November 2017, my beautiful boy got married in Mexico. Forty-two years later, I think of the life of a beloved friend lost with sadness, but I also celebrate my boy's marriage with joy—the start of a new, exciting, adventurous life for him and his fair Emily. This moment fills us with hope and happiness for their journey ahead.

From all corners of the globe, we gathered- friends, family, siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles- to celebrate, sing, dance and pour out, like fragrant precious oil, our love and devotion upon this lovely couple. Your presence here shows the strength of our bonds and the collective joy we share today.

I always knew he’d turn out fine. My third boy was born on a Sunday evening, while my parents babysat his two excited brothers at home. With his umbilical cord tightly wound around his little neck and his exhausted heart stressed, my gynaecologist rushed at breakneck speed to a waiting theatre to deliver him. From the moment I set eyes on him, I was in love. Perfect, he was.

“And the child that is born on the Sabbath day is bonny and blithe and good and gay” from the poem Sunday Child is full of grace. That is my Joe—a child of fire and light. Passionate, obstinate, opinionated, kind, gentle, with an old soul, he is an angel, but not angelic. If asked to mention one characteristic of this child, everyone would say “his smile”! It’s open, free of malice, anger or irritation.

I was delighted when he invited me for a date night on my first evening in Mexico. He’d reserved a table at the French Restaurant, knowing his mother’s penchant for fine dining. I got dressed up, my hair carefully coiffed. His knock came as the hour struck. He gallantly took my arm as we slowly made our way to supper. I braced myself, knowing this would be one of the last times we’d have to talk, reminisce and laugh about his growing years. It was poignant and very special. He told me how much he loves Emily, excitedly sharing their plans and expectations. 

All too soon, the 27th dawned. While Emily spent time with her Mum and her bridesmaids, Joe and I had our last chat. He rehearsed his speech, wrote sweet messages on Emily’s shoes, sent her encouraging notes, and listened while I told him what I expect of him as her husband. Only a few things. Love, respect, forgiveness, and, once again, to love without inhibition, unconditionally, and despite the shortcomings life throws at us. Full Stop.

Emily is an organiser par excellence. She’d worked ceaselessly to ensure every detail was perfect and that every member of the wedding party had their instructions down pat. With empathy and care, she made us all feel loved, welcome and comfortable. This was surely a day to remember. There were no nervous outbursts, tears of frustration, or disappointments.

Joe had his instructions in black and white; runners were on duty to carry messages, while Emily pampered her Mum and spent precious last moments with her. I felt so privileged to be part of the preparations, their excitement electrifying and sweet. I wore my “Mother of the Groom” T-shirt with pride. With my puffed-up chest, I might’ve looked like Dolly Parton at times, so what!

Before dashing off to do the boys' buns and plaits, Lise spent 90 minutes painstakingly pinning my hair up in a chignon. It looked beautiful, and I felt remarkably pretty, knowing my hair was perfect. As I slipped into my dress, hurriedly bought in a tiny boutique in a narrow street in the heart of Firenze, my prayer (besides hoping the dress would fit) was that he would make tiny, beautiful, sweet Emily happy and that they’d always be best friends and soulmates. Like my new bright yellow shoes, marriage might look fashionable, beautifully crafted with the best intentions, expertise and care. Still, it comes with the wearing that chafes, forming blisters and later callouses, softening the leather until we can slip into them like a pair of favourite old slippers, keeping us warm when life is cold, uncomfortable, or lonely.

Impatiently, our family gathered for the Van Heerden group photographs. It was when Joe and his groomsmen, Aaron, Christian and Dirkie, rounded the corner and walked down the long passage that I literally gasped, like Wyatt Earp, his two brothers and Doc Holliday walking down that dusty street in Mexico, from the movie Tombstone. All in black coats flapping, hats shading their eyes, boots stomping, spurs tinkling and guns at the ready. A testosterone overdose. When Joe and his posse rounded the corner with such confidence, looking like film stars, my breath caught in my throat as tears welled in my eyes. He is a man, my son. The photographs are a testament to our happiness, and to the power of forgiveness, respect, and love.

We all took our places at the required hour. I, draped on Jaco’s arm, was escorted to my seat. We took our seats and, after a while, watched as Emily made her way up the path in the golf cart, slipping her hand through the crook of her Dad’s arm as he walked her down the aisle. Tears flowed freely as he wished her well, kissed her cheek, and gave her away. To fill those shoes will take guts, strength of character, the instinctive knowledge of a father, and the unfathomable love of a parent. Emily looked radiant!

Tim Young, Joe’s friend, mentor and colleague, was the marriage officer (when asked, Tim jumped at the opportunity and completed an online Marriage Officers course) and did a splendid job. With good humour, sound advice and compassion, he invited them to make their vows and promise eternal love to each other. They did a remarkable job, weren’t at a loss for words and never tongue-tied. As the pink sun set over the ocean, we saluted a beautiful couple, wishing them everything the very best.

Once the earth cooled and the sky turned navy blue, we sat down to listen to speeches honouring their lives, friendships and eccentricities. We laughed and shed some tears as we recalled their early years. Emily spoke eloquently of her love for her family, her deepest respect for her Mum and Dad, and honoured them for their unfailing loyalty, unconditional love and support.

Joe thanked his Dad, Kobie and Marsan for their love, support and generosity. In a heartfelt moment, Joe thanked me for my input in his life. Undeservedly, he opened his heart and honoured me for my dedication. Pride filled me for this amazing young man and his guilelessness, and for his unabashed confidence as he mentioned the important people who’ve made a tremendous impact on his life, thanking them for their loyalty, support and love when he needed it most. 

Emily’s bevvy of beauties, Amy, Mart-Mari, Caitlyn and Caity, took turns sharing childhood escapades and student shenanigans. They’re all accomplished, strong, beautiful women whom Emily can count on when she needs them.

I could welcome Emily into our large family, and I did so unreservedly and with confidence, knowing we’re all going to get on like a house on fire! Duane and Cindy-Lou, I give him to you. We thought of those who couldn't be there, and I had the honour of reading special messages from Aunts, friends, and Grandparents who would've loved to be there but couldn't.

We had a delicious supper on a balmy night, with stars as our lanterns. When the band struck up, we danced the Boerebop, showing off our two steps. It was magical. My four girls all looked radiant in their beautiful evening gowns, pretty sandals and hair done up.

At the end of the evening, happy guests formed the guard of honour, with sparklers glowing. Emily and Joe had their send-off. In dribs and drabs, some of us drifted off, me to happily take the littlies to bed, the young ones to the bar, and later some for a body surf or skinny dip in the warm waters of the Pacific, while two sat up until sunrise, reminiscing about a great hunt.

I want to take this opportunity to thank the wonderful friends who supported Joe when he was a struggling student and an immigrant. Every time his heart broke, when he experienced failure, when he was at his lowest ebb, and I was thousands of miles away, all I could do was pray when my encouragement, assurances and faith in him fell on deaf ears.

Thank you, Penny, for your unfailing friendship. You were the “mother” (note the apostrophes) when I was desperate. You are a rock. You made it to Mexico. I am so grateful. You are a loyal friend. Thank you. To all the friends, family and partners, thank you for making it to Iberostar Playa Mita. I know you had to sacrifice your valuable time, holiday time and precious family time to be there. To his childhood friend Dirkie, who flew across continents to be there, the quiet, wise one, always by Joe's side. Brothers in arms. Thank you. You remind him of his roots.

Thank you to the groomsmen and bridesmaids who took the whole shebang in their stride, whether you flew in from all over the world because of a childhood friendship or because you love Emily and Joe. As you get older and more sentimental, like me, you’ll realise how much it meant. Your commitment to friendship will never go unrecognised.

Lastly, thank you, Emily and Joe. You made it possible for me to see my beautiful grandbabies, spend time with them and get to know Daniel and rekindle my relationship with Neil, who’s such a big boy now.  To spend time with you all, away from the coalface, in beautiful tropical surroundings is always magic.  I treasure each moment frame by frame. I am happy in you both.

27th November will now be my Yin-Yang day, a little sadness at a young life lost, but sprinkled copiously with joy, peace and thankfulness as the bigger picture of my life has revealed itself.

---oOo---

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/i-carry-your-heart-with-me-by-ee-cummings

P.S I did not take any photographs at the wedding, leaving it to the very accomplished professional photographer Juli Labrecque and her assistant. With Emily's kind permission I post a few photographs as reminders of a perfectly beautiful day.

Juli Labrecque Photography - Saskatoon

http://www.julilabrecque.com/…/mexico-with-emily-joe-desti…/